


Stumble

by stuffjohnwatsonsbelly



Series: The YouTube Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And Sherlock watches, Belly Kink, John drinks a lot of liquid, M/M, Masturbation, YouTube Channel, YouTube stuffing video, belly bloating, belly stuffing, stuffing kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 23:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14603868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffjohnwatsonsbelly/pseuds/stuffjohnwatsonsbelly
Summary: In which Sherlock Holmes is in a strange part of YouTube for a case, and stumbles upon a kink he never knew he had.If only the man in the video would reveal his face. . .





	Stumble

**Author's Note:**

> Because I figured that someone out there somewhere would also enjoy the porn I've been writing for myself. Enjoy :)

Sherlock’s finger hovered over the link to the video for a full minute.

He didn’t really have any need for it, not really. There was absolutely no reason why he would need to watch another similar video by a completely different user. He’d already watched the few seconds of the main video he needed – confirming that the flat he’d been in earlier that day did, indeed, belong to his suspect for his case.

That video in question had been of a man sitting back in an office chair, framed in the shot so all that could be seen was his bare torso from his neck to his waist. At first, Sherlock’s eyes had just been tracking what he needed to find in the first few seconds of the video – the tiny scar on the man’s collarbone, the triangle of freckles on his chest, and the crack in the wallpaper that perfectly matched the flat he’d been in with the Yard earlier that day.

Bingo. Gotcha. Case solved. Go to pause.

It had taken Sherlock almost a full twenty seconds to realize that the man in the video – his now confirmed killer – was rubbing an enormous belly with both of his hands while he loudly moaned, leaning back in the chair so his full skin stretched round and tight. 

Sherlock’s mouse had been hovering over the ‘x’ to close the window when the soft sounds of the man’s pained breathing, followed by a long groan, had oozed through his earbuds. And then he’d frozen. 

He’d unwillingly watched, unmoving, as the man’s fingertips traced over the curve of his stomach, sending shivers across the skin, while his back arched his curved belly further into his hands.

“God, I’m so full,” the man, the killer, had groaned, fake and theatrical and ridiculous and . . .

Oh.

“It _aches_ ,” he’d said, clutching his belly. “Can’t move. I’m gonna. . . oh Christ. . . I’m so full –”

Sherlock had ripped out his earbuds and slammed his thumb down on the space bar to pause it. The video paused with the killer’s fingertip dipping into his stretched navel, right after he’d grabbed a handful of the skin and slapped it, hard.

Sherlock had sat there, staring at the still frame, and realized sweat was slowly dripping down the back of his neck. There was a pulse deep in his gut he hadn’t really felt in months – in _years_. 

And Sherlock had been just about to wipe his internet history, shut his laptop, and take a long, cold shower, when his eyes suddenly landed on one of the suggested videos to the right. It was just a tiny thumbnail of a man standing in front of a plain white wall. He had a camouflage ballcap pulled down low to cover his face, and a pair of faded, old jeans, and a plain white t-shirt.

His arms had been toned and muscular with hidden strength, and that t-shirt had been pulled up to reveal a perfectly round stomach, unbelievably huge for the size of his frame, pressing out before him and lying low and heavy in his palms, curved and tight –

And now Sherlock’s mouse was somehow hovering over that ridiculous video to watch it. The video with a title which was simply the date it was taken – just three days before. It had over five thousand views.

Sherlock’s spine shivered as he suddenly wondered what noise it would make for those tanned palms to run over the smooth skin of that pale stomach. If they would rasp against the hairs. If this man would also moan.

He clicked it, and he put his earbuds back into his ears with shaking fingers. He looked quickly left and right, even though he was sitting alone in his flat in the middle of the night. Just as the seven-minute video finally loaded, he sat back against the hard wood of the kitchen chair, silently loosened the belt in his trousers, then gently placed his hand between his legs over the expensive wool cloth. He told himself he was simply sitting with his hand in his lap.

The video began on just the plain white wall. Sherlock held his breath, waiting for the man to appear. When he did, he walked slowly into frame with his shirt pulled down, looking down at his feet so the hat brim shielded his face. His stomach was nearly flat beneath the shirt – just a tiny, soft bulge that barely revealed itself. Nothing that would indicate that what Sherlock had seen in the video’s thumbnail was about to happen. Nothing at all.

Sherlock’s eyes quickly traced the hard line of the man’s jaw – took in grainy hints of stubble through the poor video quality, and the strong line of a sturdy neck attached to broad shoulders. The back of his hair, the part that peaked out below the cap, was cropped military short, and his top vertebra created a small knob beneath his shirt, connecting to the rest of the compact curve of his spine.

Sherlock realized his mouth was completely dry.

The man stood there for another moment looking down at his feet. His toned arms flexed, revealing hard lines of muscle under suntanned skin. He ran one of his palms slowly up his other forearm, trailing over the soft bed of blonde hair, and he took a deep breath through his nose which lasted a few seconds before letting it out in a long exhale. Sherlock couldn’t see his eyes beneath the shadow from the cap, but he knew without a doubt that they were softly closed.

Nearly a full minute into the video, the man finally stepped forward and reached out to grab something on a table out of view. His bicep bulged as he held the full gallon of liquid in his hand. Sherlock could tell it wasn’t just pure milk – whatever was inside looked too dark, like some sort of powder had been mixed in. He rapidly scanned the way the man’s small, steady fingers gripped the handle as he shook the liquid inside. 

He was so, so still.

Sherlock couldn’t believe the stillness in the man’s body – the way his spine stood ramrod straight and yet soft. The way his legs planted him firmly into the earth where he stood in a three-quarter view to the camera. The way he didn’t flinch away, or curl into himself. The way he radiated calm.

He lifted the full jug with a completely steady arm, tipped back his head, and, without a word, began to drink.

Suddenly the only sound in Sherlock’s ears was the steady gulp of the man’s swallows. Sherlock held his breath as the man placed his hand which was closer to the camera on the bottom of his stomach, which was slowly, ever so slowly, starting to round out beneath his shirt. The fabric started to cling to the curve of his skin, pushing outward against the cloth and slightly straining at the sides. He paused every few swallows to take a deep, slow breath in through his nose, letting his stomach loosen every time he breathed out, and then simply continued, gulping down more in steady swallows, punctuated every few seconds by a soft sigh in the back of his throat.

His belly – that small, soft stomach that had looked so flat and ordinary before – it started to balloon out from his body and into his waiting hand. By the time the man was nearly two-thirds through the jug, his chest was heaving with breaths, and his hand was slowly starting to rub along the strip of exposed skin that was peeking out from under his riding-up shirt.

Sherlock realized, all at once, that he was half-hard beneath his own palm. He froze, unable to decide whether to move his hand away, or press down to rub friction over his swelling cock. Whether to slam his laptop shut or turn up the volume of the man’s breaths.

He turned up the volume, one click at a time, and then let his palm cup the length of his hardening erection.

Before Sherlock realized it, the man was suddenly gulping down the last swallow of the gallon jug. Sherlock’s mouth hung slightly open – it seemed physically impossible that he had already swallowed it all that quickly, and packed it all away into that unassuming stomach. Sherlock wondered what the pressure behind the man’s navel felt like – whether he felt as stretched as he looked, or if the liquid sloshed heavily in his stomach as he slowly twisted his hips back and forth.

The man tipped his head back even more to catch the last drips of liquid, which caused his rounding stomach to push out into his palm, forming a round curve that started from just under his chest and swelled above his hips. It stretched further out into his hand with each slow inhale as he breathed. 

He stayed there for a moment with his head tipped back, still hidden by the pulled-down hat, and then he slowly, for the first time, rubbed his hand over the whole swell of his growing stomach through his shirt.

And for the first time in the entire silent video, he moaned. It was a soft, wonderful sound from the back of his throat – nothing like the theatrical sighs and grunts from the other video Sherlock had seen.

Sherlock was instantly hard beneath his palm.

The man reached forward to set the empty jug down and looked down at his own bloated stomach. The longer he stood there, the rounder it got, as the liquid slowly filled out the bottom of his gut. He placed both of his hands on the bottom part of his belly, holding it gently between his palms before he started to rub along the exposed skin, stretching from his sides and out to the roundest curve of his filling belly. He stroked himself, looking down at his hands on his body, and Sherlock shivered at the quiet rasp of his palms across the skin.

“God, yeah,” the man breathed, so quietly Sherlock barely noticed he even made a sound. The man rolled his head back on his neck as he kept rubbing his stomach, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. Finally, he looked back down and gave the top of his stomach a small pat, right over the tight curve which jutted out to the roundest swell of his belly. He placed his palm on the curve and rubbed his thumb once where his navel would be under his shirt, then he reached forward again, grabbed another full gallon that had been hiding off camera, and, without any fanfare at all, brought the new one to his lips.

Sherlock’s fingers started to trace his erection through no will of his own, pressing against the hard skin through his trousers. He could already feel himself leaking as the sounds of the man’s swallows and soft grunts filled his ears – the quick breaths through his nose, and the sighs in the back of his throat.

His hand was still slowly rubbing his belly as he drank, and Sherlock’s eyes watched it swell and tighten with each swallow, pushing out with each breath. The man traced leisurely circles over his body, from his hips to his chest over the round, growing curve, cupping his palm around the tightening skin. The t-shirt was straining even more at the sides, and the hem of it cut into his belly where it swelled. 

Focusing hard, Sherlock could see the tiniest nub in the center of the man’s belly from his navel, pushing out against the thin fabric. The man brushed his thumb over it once, twice, then paused from his swallowing to gasp out loud, letting out a little moan as his thumb rubbed over the sensitive bump. He looked down again at his belly, his back now curved to press his stomach forward to try and get more room. His legs were spread where they stood planted on the floor, and his belly started to hang heavily in the space between his hips. Again, he watched his own hand stroke over the curve, rubbing the heavy underside of his belly before holding the side and breathing so that his belly stretched into his palm. His arm was starting to have to reach forward to touch the farthest tip of his growing stomach, and Sherlock suddenly desperately wanted to know what that stomach looked like from above – what the man himself saw when he looked down at his huge, ballooning body.

The man paused for another moment, holding himself in his hand and taking a few deep breaths, then he raised the liquid and again started to drink. He drank more slowly now, pausing after every few swallows to arch his back even further, and press his belly into his hand. Sherlock could see beneath the shirt that the skin at the top of his swollen stomach was stretched tight and hard, struggling to rise even more each time he tried to breathe. 

Sherlock realized, all at once, that his own hand was down inside his trousers. That he had somehow unzipped himself and was now stroking his bare cock with his palm. His heart was racing, blood rushing through his ears. He held his cock in his fingers, rock hard and hot, and he wondered if the man’s bloated belly felt just as hard. If it would be stretched taut under his fingers, and warm as it stretched and swelled.

“Oh,” Sherlock heard himself moan. He sat up quickly, then remembered he was completely alone. The man was over halfway finished with this second gallon, and he was starting to grunt under his breath as he rubbed his belly and scratched the stretching skin. He paused for a minute and pressed his palm right over his navel, where his belly stuck out the most. The muscles in his biceps flexed as he pressed, and Sherlock heard himself moan again when he saw that the skin of the man’s stomach had no give. That he was completely filled and stretched tight – unable to suck it in.

Sherlock shoved down his trousers and pants so that his cock was free. He was flushed and straining, more erect than he could remember ever being in years. The man started to finish the last few swallows of this gallon, and in between swallows, with his hand clutching his belly, he suddenly whined, high and desperate in his throat, and Sherlock’s hand flew over his own cock, desperate for friction, imagining that his palm was on the taut, bloated skin of the man’s belly, pressing against it, holding the heavy weight of it in his hands as it grew, and grew, and filled –

“Fuck,” the man moaned under his breath. He finished the last swallow, wincing and gasping for breath, then dropped the empty carton to the floor and clutched his belly with both hands. He arched his back as far as it could go, looking down at his huge stomach held between his palms. “Fuck, fuck,” he whispered again while he rubbed his round sides.

The t-shirt looked like it was ready to rip. The man’s navel was fully extended now, bursting out against the tight fabric which was cutting into his skin. His jeans were slung low across his hips, and his belly was starting to spill over the front, bursting out for more space.

Desperate, Sherlock licked his own palm then rubbed it down along his cock, closing his eyes at the warmth thrumming along his erection. He wondered what it would feel like to press his cock against the man’s belly. If it would be hard and swollen enough for him to rut and rock against it until he came. If his semen would drip down the sides of the huge curve, making the taut skin glisten. If he could come right against the man’s sensitive navel while he clutched his belly and moaned for more – to be filled, and stretched, and heavy, and huge –

Sherlock opened his eyes, not realizing he’d closed them. The man was breathing hard and holding his belly with both hands, taking long, deep breaths that expanded his heavy body even more.

“I need . . . “ he was breathing, almost too softly to hear. “Need more room . . .”

His deft fingers were suddenly on his belt, arms reaching around below the huge curve of his belly. He looked up at the ceiling as his belt slid out of the buckle, then he reached up with one hand and held it to the front of his belly, arm nearly fully extended so he could reach the farthest point. He moaned and pressed hard against his swollen stomach, holding it in while his other hand frantically tore at the button and zipper on his jeans. He held his stomach in for another breathless second after his jeans were undone, groaning under his breath, then in one huge gasp of air he let it all out. His stomach nearly doubled in size, surging out ahead of him into the new space. It caused the t-shirt hem to roll up over the huge curve of his belly, resting just above his navel where it pressed into his tight skin.

And as his belly swelled, and his skin stretched to cover what he’d done to his body, the man simply held himself with both hands, tipped his head up to the ceiling, and moaned, “Yes . . . fuck . . . _yes_. . .”

Sherlock bit his lip and grunted, desperate to see the bare skin of the man’s belly before he came. He held his hand back from pumping wildly over his cock, trembling where he gripped his erection in his hand. 

“Come on,” he whispered to the screen. “Christ, come on . . .”

Suddenly Sherlock noticed that the man himself was erect in his jeans. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed before how the man’s full cock was straining within the denim, now even more obvious that his zipper was pulled down. It bobbed as he waddled forward for a step to arch his back more, pressing his stomach out before him.

There was only a minute and thirty seconds left in the video. Sherlock’s mind raced. He wondered how he could possibly pack anything else into his aching belly. It must be painfully stretched and taut now, bloated and heavy, making the man have to whine and gasp for shallow breaths as it pressed up on his lungs and hung huge between his hips. 

Then, without hesitation, the man reached forward again, struggling to move around the size of his belly, then leaned back into camera with a half-liter of soda in his hand. He quickly unscrewed the cap, like he couldn’t get it off fast enough, and brought it to his mouth so quickly that drops of brown liquid streamed down the side of his chin. He breathed harshly through his nose as he gulped it down, and helplessly clutched the bottom of his belly with his palm, having to lean down just so he could reach. He rubbed it in small circles as he swallowed, grunting with each breath. The t-shirt was starting to roll up more over the curve, pushed upwards by the growing swell of his belly, which pressed out now obscenely from the man’s chest. It looked huge and packed, heavy and round. Obscenely stuffed and filled.

Sherlock bit his lip and held in a desperate moan as the man stopped half-way through the soda and looked down at himself again. He rubbed his palm over his entire belly again, over the full bursting curve.

“God, look at it,” he whispered under his breath. “God, yeah . . .”

He tipped his back again, wincing with each swallow. Then suddenly, without warning, he grabbed the bottom of the t-shirt with his hand and yanked it up to his chest, letting it rest over the top curve of his belly. Sherlock gasped out loud at the stretched expanse of pale skin, bursting and huge, so stretched and taut that he imagined he could see blue veins even though the grainy quality of the video. The man threw his hand down by his side and pushed his bare belly forward as he finished the last swallows, forcing them down his throat, then gasped for breath after grunting down his last swallow and dropped the empty bottle to the floor. He looked down at himself with his hands by his sides and staggered a step, thrown off balance by the huge weight at his front. His belly surged ahead of him into the room, hanging from his body without the support of his hands. 

Sherlock longed to see his face without the shadow of the cap. How he would be looking down at himself in shock and awe. Pure pleasure and pain. He could just make out, in the shadows on the man’s face, that he licked his lips.

Then, with shaking fingers no longer steady, the man brought both hands up to hold his new belly. He waited a moment with his palms hovering over the skin, as if savoring the moment, then he rubbed himself from his sides to his navel and groaned, more loudly than he’d made any other sound so far. With twenty seconds left, he caressed his bursting stomach, hands moving over the stretched skin as if he was pregnant, rubbing and feeling each heavy swollen curve. 

Sherlock’s hand flew over his cock. The clock of the video was like a countdown to his orgasm – to the moment that he himself would finally burst. 

“Fucking huge,” the man moaned, louder now. “God, gonna fucking burst. I can’t . . . I can’t –”

He attacked his stretched navel with his fingers, rubbing the swollen nub as he breathlessly whined, barely able to reach it around the huge mass of his belly. 

Ten seconds left.

Sherlock gasped as the man then reached between his legs beneath his belly. He moaned freely now, more desperate and raw than the moans in the last video had been. He looked down at himself, stretched to burst, and rubbed wildly at his navel while his palm pressed against the taut skin. His other hand simply pressed hard over the hidden length of his erection, not even moving.

Five seconds.

The man moved from his navel to rubbing huge, round circles over the full skin of his belly, caressing every part of it in his hands as he took in a deep breath and pushed it out even more, moaning hard at the new stretch.

“Gonna burst –” he groaned again, then the beginnings of a wild whine left his throat, and he tipped his head back, pure bliss on his shadowed face, as the hand between his legs suddenly rubbed once along his erection.

“Fuck –"

Then it ended.

Sherlock cried out as his orgasm suddenly exploded from his body, coating his stomach and hand with his semen. He lost all control, mind racing and pulsing at the thought of coming with his erection pressed to the man’s belly, with the huge, heaving weight of it between his hands as he grabbed it to rub, as he sucked at the bursting navel and felt the taut, full skin struggling to breathe beneath his lips.

When he finally came back to himself, the advertisement before the next video was already starting to play. He quickly paused it, somehow unwilling to shatter the moment. He sat there in the chair with his softening cock still in his hand and breathed for a few long minutes.

And for some reason, more than anything, he thought once more of the strong line of the man’s jaw. The quiet confidence in his spine and hands. The desperate, quiet sounds of his sighs when he first began to drink.

And he realized, in retrospect, that the bump under his shirt just beneath his shoulder on his chest – the little detail his mind had noticed while he was busy masturbating like an idiot – must have been a raised scar, likely from some sort of trauma.

Wildly, Sherlock wiped off his sullied hand on his trousers, not caring about the stain, and clicked on the man’s username to see the rest of the videos. The other users’ videos suggested on the side all had ridiculous usernames, all about stuffing or bloating with some random combination of numbers.

This man’s, though, simply said “Username999.”

Sherlock scanned through the twelve videos the man had posted, all of them with a similar thumbnail – the white wall, the jeans, the camouflage cap, the white shirt.

The huge, bloated belly.

All of them titled simply the date they were taken, and all of them exactly three months apart. Sherlock could see, easily, the progress of how the man’s capacity had grown over the last three years, from the first video where his belly looked simply round after a full meal, to this last one, where he looked overly pregnant and struggling to remain standing.

He looked at the page of the man’s videos for a long time, idly tracing the outline of his body in each one. He didn’t watch anything else on the channel, but he noticed, in the first three videos posted, a shadow on the back wall from a cane propped up against the off-screen table.

Deep down, Sherlock knew, more intimately than he’d ever known a solution to a case, exactly what he would now be doing every three months.

He would be sitting there, in his empty flat, refreshing this man’s page, with his own trousers unzipped, and tissues at hand.

And he would be hoping that the he didn’t again see the shadow on the wall from the cane.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a series I've been brewing in the back of my mind, which eventually has Sherlock meeting his mysterious Username999. Who knows what they'll possibly get up to in person???
> 
> I'll post more parts as I write them! Let me know if you enjoyed this! :) And happy orgasms.


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